Page 8 of Torqued Off

“It’ll be okay.” I want to believe that.

She lifts my shirt and gasps. “What happened to you?”

She’s not talking about today’s injury. That’s not the shocking reveal. Her fingers skim over the bubbled skin. I jerk away, but a part of me wants her to touch it and me. To tell me how bad it is. I haven’t looked in the mirror for years. The tattoo back there was done before I entered the military. They weren’t happy about it, but before I pledged my life to Uncle Sam, I was young and dumb and full of a lot of I-don’t-give-a-fuck attitude. That’s why I needed the military. It calmed me down. It made me understand the need for trust. Because out in the field, if you can’t trust the guy behind you or in front of you to have your front or back, then you’re a war of one and that only ends with friendly fire.

Hence the gruesome evidence of that exact moment on my back.

Nine years into my career, one that I thought would be twenty-plus years easily, a soldier, when faced with a scrap of evidence that he was going to have to fight for his life, struck out first. He sprayed the room with bullets, and I went down hard. I was discharged six months later. The bureau took me in because I had a look they could work into their undercover and sensitive operations unit with “a new look” they invented for me.

The mohawk isn’t my favorite, but the tats, I’m not mad at.

It all fits the “persona” that I’m supposed to play. But I hate pretending to be someone. Playing a part isn’t the truth. It’s an invention and right now, my fight between reality and fantasy is blurred.

“A little accident in the military,” I mumble. It’s not that I’m embarrassed, it’s that I’m pissed.

Pissed that the military’s screening didn’t realize that the soldier wasn’t ready for combat. Pissed that I didn’t realize the soldier was having trust issues. He hid them well. And pissed that I had to leave what I loved doing when my kidneys took an extended vacation and I had to have a transplant. It’s not ideal, but it’s the way it is.

And I’m going to need my meds soon.I pat my jeans pocket.Shit…they’re in my bike’s pannier.

Her fingers continue to caress the area. “Hades…”

“It’s Thane. Thane Alexander.” I don’t like her saying the other name. It’s fake. It’s something that the Guardians gave me and not that I was opposed, but it isn’t and wasn’t me. It’s all about my time in Afghanistan. According to them, I’ve been to hell and back, and lived to tell the story.

But I don’t like the story.

“That’s your real name?”

I glance over my shoulder. “Yeah.”

Her green eyes flutter and my gut rides a whopper of a rollercoaster. “Nice to meet you, Thane.”

That’s one lie down. Start small.

She pats my ass. “I need to find some sterile gauze for this new wound. I’ll be right back.”

“Stay away from the windows, Bree.”

“Thane, it was some random violence. It wasn’t for us.”

I swallow, looking away, and she tips her head.

“Was it for you?” she asks slowly.

I shake my head.

Her face pales. “Was it…was it forme?”

5BREE

I don’t believe him.Even after he nods, I’m thinking he’s fucking with me. I want to ask him so many questions, but my phone buzzes in my pocket and I pull it out to end the uncomfortable staring standoff.

Gia: Bree, are you okay? Please tell me where you are.

I hold up the phone and Thane shakes his head.

“Don’t tell her where you are. You can tell her you’re okay and some kind of code that only she would know that will make her comfortable that the information is true, but don’t tell her the address. I know Cray won’t tell. And he’ll threaten anyone who saw anything to keep their traps shut.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “I’m going to go make a call.”

“Fine.”

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